


A Little Bit of Something

by fangirl933laluna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the wizarding war, Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Drarry is canon, Everyone Is Gay, Harry Potter is a Malfoy, Harry is Stupid af, M/M, Multi, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, harry is totally bi, hermione and draco are study buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:46:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl933laluna/pseuds/fangirl933laluna
Summary: "You've given me a little bit of something that I haven't had in a long while," Harry said, pressing the palms of his hands into his knees.Draco smiled. "And what is that?"Harry looked up at him, green eyes flashing in the light. "A home."**************A few years after the war Draco sees Harry in the park, and they finally have a decent conversation. Draco may be a little shit, but at least he knows that he's in love with Harry. Harry isn't quite so self-observant.





	A Little Bit of Something

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Drarry fic, so I'm SUPER excited to write it.  
> Kudos to my two best friends for all their support, you know you are. 
> 
> I hope you guys like it!
> 
> xxxx

Draco was eleven years old when he first saw Harry Potter in Madame Malkin’s. Harry was small and skinny, and wearing clothes five times too large for him; just the sort of boy Draco would poke fun at. And yet Draco found himself wanting to be friends with the strange dark-haired boy.

Draco held out his hand for Harry to shake, asking for his friendship in the only way he knew how: by insulting others at his benefit.

And he watched as Harry sided with the ugly red-headed child of the family his father had taught him to hate.

 

Draco was twelve when he insulted Harry’s muggle-born best friend with the worst insult he knew—jealous that a mudblood and a blood-traitor got to be Potter’s friends and not him.

Draco told Harry of his feelings in the only way he could: through anger and insults spat through thin lips.

And he watched as Harry turned away again, this time with rage simmering in his bright, green eyes.

 

Draco was thirteen when he watched Potter take on a fully grown hippogriff—and befriend it, a creature that made Draco’s own knees quake at the mere thought of approaching it.

Draco tried to show Potter he was brave, too, in the only way he know—with bluster and bravado laved with salt.

And Harry watched instead as Draco screamed in pain when Buckbeak clawed him, knocking him to the ground.

 

Draco was fourteen when the Boy Who Lived was chosen for yet another task that would make him famous—and would yet again end with deadly consequences.

For the first time Draco experienced true terror when Potter appeared on the grass, pale, covered in blood, and clutching the cold body of Cedric Diggory.

And he watched and did nothing as Harry was surrounded by friends who loved him, even as true loneliness and want gnawed at his chest whenever he looked at the boy he was supposed to hate.

 

Draco was fifteen when Harry Potter and his friends faced the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters head on, and survived

Draco watched his father thrown in Azkaban, and Potter stumble around Hogwarts in a grief-stricken daze after Draco’s own aunt murdered Harry’s godfather.

He watched Harry, wondering if he’d ever see him again, for he knew things were about to get much, much worse.

 

Draco was sixteen when he realized he was in love with his arch-enemy.

Draco looked into the deep green of Harry’s eyes and saw true hate roiling there as Snape pulled him into the darkness, away from the screams, the ghastly green glow of the Dark Mark and Albus Dumbledore’s broken body beneath it.

He watched the man he loved stare at the sky with such pain, and did nothing, because the man he loved hated him.

 

Draco was seventeen, and a Death Eater, when Harry Potter was captured and dragged in front of him, swollen by a stinging jinx.

Draco listened while his aunt deliberated if the man in front of them was indeed Harry Potter, and thought how stupid they all were. Of course this was Harry. He would know Harry anywhere.

He listened when Aunt Bellatrix asked him if the man on the floor was Harry, and he lied, because even when the Dark Lord threatened his family, Harry Potter came first.

 

Draco Malfoy was twenty-one when he saw Harry Potter walking through a park in London, his hands in his pockets and his messy hair hiding the shadows that Draco knew would surround his eyes.

Draco saw the tension and sadness that weighed Harry’s shoulders, the heaviness in his step that told Draco he wasn’t sleeping enough.

And this time he walked over, and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Potter,” he said, and Harry smiled.

“Malfoy. It’s been a while.”


End file.
